


London - Indiana

by Macx



Series: Gray Areas [13]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-17
Updated: 2005-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June 19th, 2005, the Formula 1 US Grand Prix... and Crowley was there...</p>
            </blockquote>





	London - Indiana

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This story is based on a real event. On Sunday, June 19th, 2005, the Formula 1 US Grand Prix took place on the Motor Speedway in Indianapolis. The whole mess with the Michelin tires, the accidents, the fourteen cars pulling into the pit lane after the formation lap etc., and only the six cars running with Bridgestone actually going into the race is true.
> 
> I was on the phone with my friend Lara and she suddenly started giving me ideas that the whole thing was Crowley's work. While watching this mockery of a race, we worked on the idea and this is the result.

Anthony J. Crowley was one bored demon.

In the last months, he and Aziraphale had been too busy with their own lives getting turned upside down for him to truly get into his demonic side. With the ‘job' they had been given by Above and Below to find a certain human who had stolen precious artefacts, followed by the changes in Aziraphale, then his own, and finally culminating in the angel disappearing off to Amsterdam, things had been tumultuous at best.

Now normality had settled in.

Crowley went out and about in his Bentley, Aziraphale was pondering the installation of an air-conditioning system, which the demon had strongly advised him to do, and there had been no further notes or calls from either Side.

About three months into their normality, boredom had settled in. At least with the demon. Where Aziraphale had his books, Crowley had nothing that could be called a hobby.

Aziraphale actually encouraged him to go and cause some mischief, just to have him out of his hair. So he went out to cause some minor trouble, but it didn't help. He felt itchy, nervous, wanted more, and whatever he did, nothing helped. Not even trying to tire himself out with Aziraphale's help did much good.

In the end he hung out around the bookshop. He read the newspaper front to back, even started on the swashbuckling novels in one corner of the store, snickering to himself or reading parts out loud that had Aziraphale cock one eyebrow at him.

Crowley even opted to help Aziraphale paint the shop, something the angel had been pondering for a while, but Aziraphale just couldn't decide on a colour. Crowley suggesting outrageous combinations didn't help.

And it didn't help Crowley to be around his lover so much either. Sure, he could temporarily scratch the itch. He loved their rather intense encounters, Aziraphale's enthusiasm, the intimate ways they could be together, but his mind was still whirling.

He wanted to do something.

Something more than making some kid trip or erase a teen girl's whole folder of saved SMS and cell numbers of her myriad of friends. Crowley was a demon who loved to work grand scale. Not world domination scale, but big. Single temptations were boring; mass trouble or mischief, yeah, that was wonderful.

Just because he had been kicked out of Hell and had acquired white stripes, and had changed in a way he really would rather not have known, he was still a demon. And he still had demonic instincts. Just like Aziraphale still had very angelic ones. He couldn't help helping; Crowley couldn't help causing a bit of trouble here or there. Nothing major. Just little things.

But little things hadn't been enough lately. He craved a good plan, a good plotting and achieving his goal. Something bigger. Something... bad.

He was by now driving the angel batty, but he couldn't think of a single thing to do. He was out of his mind with boredom and when it culminated in him reading an old script while having a truly bad coffee that could melt spoons, the angel started to intervene.

"Crowley, please," Aziraphale muttered and plugged the book out of his hands. "It's a precious item."

Crowley blew out some air and sunk deeper into the chair. His eyes roamed over the shelves.

"Why don't you go out a bit? Some fresh air might help," the angel suggested.

"I've been nothing but out lately, Zira! And fresh air isn't all it's supposed to be!"

"Go further," was the only reply.

Crowley muttered to himself.

"Dear, please," came the gentle addition that was much more of an order than any command could have been.

Crowley glowered, but he got up and stalked out of the bookshop, hands stuffed into his pockets.

He knew he needed to do something, to get those temptations out of his system, but small didn't work for him any more. Nothing here wasn't all that rib-tickling. Some things were truly getting old and he needed something good.

 

 

He ended up at Gatwick.

In a plane.

On the way to Montreal.

 

* * *

 

It was five weeks later that Crowley returned, in a very good mood, almost whistling to himself, and much more like the demon Aziraphale knew.

"Had a good time?" the angel asked.

"A very good one."

Crowley caught his angel in a kiss and felt Aziraphale respond.

"Missed me?” he murmured, voice laced with lust.

"Actually, I did,” was the soft reply and Aziraphale's hands framed his face, then he was kissed again. Tenderly.

The demon swallowed for a moment, then proceeded to nibble his way along Aziraphale's neck to the pulse point, giving it a harmless bite.

"Me, too,” he whispered into the skin there, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

While it had been fun to be out and about, it was more fun to have his angel with him. He had missed the sometimes barely tolerant scowls, the little ‘Crowley, dear's that told him Aziraphale was criticizing him in his work but never in a negative way, and he had missed simply talking to his lover about something or other. They weren't together 24/7 in London either, but at least he could drop by when he felt like it.

Aziraphale's embrace tightened minutely. "You're back now,” he only stated.

"Yeah.”

"How about some tea?”

Crowley chuckled softly, looking into the celestial blue eyes with their silvery depths. "Sounds fine, angel,” he replied, playing with a strand of roguish blond hair. "Just fine.”

"So where did you go?” the angel asked while he was waiting for the water to boil.

"Montreal.”

Sandy eyebrows rose. "I didn't hear anything in the news.”

Crowley smirked. "I didn't stay long. Actually, I went to the States. Indiana.”

Aziraphale held out a cup of tea and he took it. "I've never been there before.”

Crowley sipped the scalding hot brew and leaned back in the chair, looking very please. "Don't plan on going back there either, but it was... entertaining.”

The angel shot him a quizzical look. "I can't recall Indiana being on the news either.”

"Not yet, angel, not yet.”

"You're being ominous again.”

Snake eyes glanced over the rims of the sunglasses, sparkling with mirth. "Just wait and see. Don't want to spoil your fun.”

"Oh.”

"So, what have you been up to? You probably ruined my plants, huh?”

Aziraphale gave him an outraged look. "I would never harm them in any way!”

The smirk turned into a little smile. "Of course not. You just coddle them.”

"They are His Creations, too.”

"You're not one of His angels any more.”

"That doesn't mean I have to mistreat them.”

"I never mistreated my plants. There are studies about the effects of... hmpf!”

The only effective way to shut up a demon called Anthony J. Crowley was to kiss him, and while it was hazardous with a cup of tea in one hand, Aziraphale didn't care as he straddled his slightly stunned lover. He took advantage of the surprise, then listened to the soft rumble coming from deep within Crowley's chest with satisfaction. The moment demonic claws stroked over his back, the wings itched to come out and he gave in to that temptation, unfurling them slowly. Crowley's fingers caressed the roots, making him shiver.

 

* * *

 

It was another two weeks later that Aziraphale found the demon in front of the TV, watching a sports channel.

It was Sunday evening in June. It was warm, with a slight breeze, and Aziraphale had been looking forward to a nice evening with a few DVDs Crowley insisted were a ‘Must See!'. Instead he was looking at... a sports channel.

"You're watching sports?” he asked, slightly mystified.

Crowley was not a sports watching person. He claimed it had no entertainment value. Sweating humans were not his thing, whatever sports they were doing. Aziraphale had been able to get him to watch a few Olympics with him in the past decades, but that had probably been because the demon had been involved in doping scandals and had been gleefully waiting for his work to be discovered by the officials.

Tonight he was watching a car race. Not that there was much of a doping scandal to be expected with race cars. Aziraphale doubted his demon was even involved in drugs and athletes any more. Very strange.

"Yep.”

"You never watch sports,” Aziraphale felt the necessity to point out.

Not even the 2004 Olympics had kept Crowley's interest, though there had been doping.

"There's nothing on tonight.”

But there was a lot on the table in front of the demon, Aziraphale noticed. Beer, crisps, pretzels, sweets. It looked like Crowley planned on something big. And looking very closely at him, he appeared to be somewhat expectantly gleeful.

"Crowley?”

Yellow eyes glowed with excitement. "Still have it in me, angel.”

"I never doubted that,” was the automatic reply, Aziraphale still mystified.

There were reporters running around and interviewing drivers or whoever was around, there were press statements, crowds, some kind of problem, but Aziraphale had yet to get the whole point.

"It's a car race,” he repeated.

"Well, it might be. Right now it's not,” Crowley grinned.

"It says they'll start in a few minutes.”

"Maybe.”

Aziraphale gazed at his broadly smiling lover. "Maybe?” he echoed.

"Yep.”

"What is it you did, Crowley?”

He was shushed and Crowley leaned forward as another reporter was saying something or other about changing the race track, regulations, illegal races, qualifications and danger. Aziraphale's knowledge of racing was close to nil. Actually it had surpassed nil at a time and gone into the negative scale. He was baffled as to what was going on.

"Sit down, sit down, they're about to start!” Crowley called, waving at him. He was literally on the edge of his seat, the aura glowing with malicious glee, and the eyes had taken on the golden sheen of excitement that Aziraphale usually only saw throughout their bed antics.

And they did start. Twenty race cars went on their formation lap, but the moment they had completed it, fourteen of them drove back into the pit lane.

Crowley whooped.

"Uh, dear, are they supposed to do that?”

"Nope!”

"But... there are only six cars left.”

And there were. On the TV screen, Aziraphale watched as six cars waited for the signal to start the race.

"Yes!”

Aziraphale shot him a little frown. "This is your work?"

"Yep, it is. Beautiful, isn't it? Take a beer, watch and have fun!"

The race was started and six cars were on the track, two of them almost colliding in the first curve, which had Crowley laughing.

"There are two red cars, two yellow ones, and two black ones," Aziraphale pointed out.

"Yep."

"And they go around in circles."

"Yep."

"How... riveting."

Crowley's grin was wide and happy. "Isn't it?"

"Wow..." Aziraphale mumbled, no enthusiasm in his voice. "I think I can hear my windows calling. They really do need to be cleaned."

"Not now!" He was grabbed and pulled back down. "You need to watch this!”

"It's seventy-three rounds, dear. They surely won't complete them with only six cars, right?”

"Oh, they will.”

Aziraphale sat down again, still frowning.

Ten minutes into the race: "The spectators are throwing water bottles onto the tracks."

"Oh yeah. Great, huh?"

"But isn't that dangerous? Something might happen."

"Yep, it might. Oh, this is so perfect!"

Crowley stuffed chips into his mouth. Aziraphale couldn't stop frowning. The camera panned back and forth between the mockery of a race and the enraged people who had probably paid good money for it, but were watching just three teams fighting for one of the first three places. All were booing, some were still throwing stuff, and others had gotten up and were leaving.

"Hey, look! Traffic jam! Before the race is over!" Crowley was almost bouncing on his couch.

"They're leaving?"

"Of course they are. Waving banners, too.”

Someone had written ‘$ Back!' onto a piece of paper, others were proclaiming ‘Black Flag This' as they walked out, holding the makeshift flag between them.

"And they're still throwing stuff. I expect loads of law suits." Crowley looked like a child on at Christmas. "Suing the race track company, suing the FIA, suing Michelin."

"Michelin?”

"Tire suppliers.”

"Why would they sue the tire company?”

Crowley briefly tore his eyes away from the mock race. "See those six?”

"I can hardly miss them,” Aziraphale replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"They drive Bridgestone. The others have Michelin.”

"Oh.” The angel was confused. "And why is that a problem?”

Crowley sighed. "You really should keep up with the matters of the world.”

"Pardon me for not watching the sports channel 24/7,” was the slightly miffed reply.

Crowley stopped for a moment, then leaned over and gave him a little kiss. "You're pardoned,” he whispered with a devilish grin that Aziraphale couldn't resist. "As for the tires... you see, seven teams have Michelin, three have Bridgestone. There was an accident with one of the Michelin cars; a rear tire blew.”

Aziraphale looked slightly worried.

"That wasn't me, angel,” the demon added quickly. "You know that's not my style.”

"Well, yes...”

"Anyway, the guy walked away, no harm done. The supplier examined the blown tire, couldn't find a reason, proclaimed the track was unsafe with their current tires, and they hadn't brought along different, more resilient tires.”

"Couldn't they just change the tires throughout the race?”

"Against regulations.” Crowley looked smug.

"Ah. Did you have anything to do with those changes in regulations?” Aziraphale asked suspiciously.

"Nope. Could have been me, but no, they changed them all by themselves.”

"I see. So the tires are unsafe?”

"All of Michelin's. They got into arguments about safety on the track, of the track, even started arguing about whether to run the race, maybe construct a chicane into the circuit to reduce to corner speed of the corner leading onto the pit straights. But in the end...” Crowley gestured at the screen. "Voila!"

"This is all your work?”

The demon looked proud.

"You really gave this some deep thought, didn't you?" Aziraphale mused.

There was a sheepish grin. "Uhm, no, not really. To quote a famous man: I love it when a plan comes together."

"How did you do this, dear? It's a grand scale scheme for just a few days in the US."

"Oh, I was lucky. I ran into this guy from Michelin, literally. I managed to get him to screw up some things – like not bringing along two different sets of tires in case one doesn't hold. Or forget about the new tarmac, which would have required those new sets of tires. You know, the whole caboodle. It worked beautifully in the end. I only wanted to cause a bit of trouble, get the race started too late or whatever... but look!" Crowley gestured enthusiastically. "It's perfection!"

Aziraphale munched on some truly good crisps. "Well, you always were good at such things," he confessed reluctantly.

Crowley beamed at the praise. "Look at the upset spectators! They'll be storming the tracks next."

The angel didn't look happy about that at all. "I hope not. There might be an accident."

Crowley just shrugged. "Might be."

The frown deepened and Crowley patted his knee.

"They have security for that sort of thing.”

The race continued and Aziraphale had to give it to his lover, he had done a good job. Even if he wasn't in the employment of Hell anymore, his talents couldn't go by unrecognized. It wouldn't earn him any points with Below, and it wouldn't be in any report, but Aziraphale was convinced that the right people would be able to tell it was his handiwork.

In the end, six cars crossed the finish line. There had been a few moments of excitement in the race, but nothing major.

And no one got hurt. No one crashed, no one blew up an engine, and no spectators stormed the tracks. Crowley muttered something under his breath and emptied his beer.

Aziraphale smiled. "Divine intervention, my dear.”

"You weren't even there!” the demon argued.

"Ah well, it doesn't take a physical presence to do it.”

That got him a suspicious look, but he just continued smiling.

"You're making this up!" he accused.

"Angels do not lie, dear. You know that."

"Riiiight. I know you, angel, and you are not a true angel. Never were. And you twist the truth."

Aziraphale huffed. "I obfuscate at best."

"No, you outright make things up. And no cars crashing is due to just six of them on the track and nothing major going on in the overtaking department!" Crowley explained angrily.

"Like I said, divine intervention."

"Divine my ass."

Leaning over, Aziraphale took the bottle out of Crowley's hands and then proceeded to kiss him; deeply. The demon tasted of beer and crisps, and something deeply Crowley himself.

"Feeling better?” Aziraphale murmured, all arguing gone from his demeanour.

"Loads,” was the soft reply.

"Good.”

"You know, you were the one encouraging me to cause trouble,” Crowley murmured between kisses, now in full snuggle mode but not without getting a point across, even if it meant by obviously beating it over Aziraphale's head.

"I'm an angel,” Aziraphale replied. "I would never encourage you to do anything of the like.”

"You want me to quote you?”

He was silenced by a kiss that was close to a tonsillectomy. It was sure to blow out a few synapses.

"Your said I should...” he mumbled, then groaned as nimble fingers slid under his shirt and encountered warm skin that happily remembered those touches.

Crowley was suddenly on his back on the couch, a very radiant angel above him, their auras sizzling against each other in an extremely pleasant way. Yellow eyes sparkled with gold as Aziraphale disposed of their clothes.

"Aggressive,” he whispered, but he looked pleased.

"Shut up,” the angel answered and he gladly followed the command.

 

 

On the TV, commentaries were still running, but neither the angel nor the demon was listening any more.


End file.
